Rescue
by gomenasai-for-everything
Summary: Altair is overwhelmed by a group of soldiers with impure intentions, and is rescued by Malik, who grew worried and came looking for him after not hearing anything to signify that Altair had completed his mission. Altair is disturbed by it all, and Malik comforts him.


I should have been paying more attention, I knew that well. If I had been, I would have been able to dodge the beggar's errant elbow with ease; as it stood, it sent me sprawling, back first, against a hard expanse of metal that I knew could only be a Templar knight. As I righted myself, a cluster of five or six regular guards came rushing towards me as well, and while I prepared to fight, my only thought was that Malik would surely be astoundingly angry over me drawing such attention to myself again.

I chuckled, drawing my blade and ducking under a wide swing of the Templar's heavy sword. I managed to catch one of the guards on the side on the way down, and I heard him curse, him and the others calling me all manner of vile things that stung even less for being false. It wasn't a fair fight, but then again, few ever are; the Templar kicked the back of my knee with a heavy boot and sent me sprawling to the ground. A guard stomped my wrist to make me drop my sword, then kicked it out of my reach. I threw a knife into his neck with my other hand and slid my dagger free, on my feet again before he hit the ground.

Those who lived pressed me harder at that, I suppose, forcing me back towards the wall, and I recall being shocked that the Templar didn't simply cut me down from behind while I was too distracted to face him. Instead, he moved to the front with the others, catching a downward stroke of my dagger on his sword in a way that none of the regular guards could dream. I felt suddenly ill; there were too many of them, I knew that, and in such close quarters, pressed against a wall… I knew that I had little hope of winning. I would probably die here, a novice without honor and a failure to Al Mualim. It was a bitter thought, but I was still an Assassin; I would not go down without a fight. I tried to throw another knife with my damaged hand, but missed anything vital, instead only catching a guard through the shoulder.

The Templar took advantage of the small opening that caused, grabbing my broken wrist in a massive hand in a way that almost made me cry out. He slammed it against the wall, and I tried to swing the dagger around to his neck, but the guard whose side I'd injured grabbed the arm and took the short blade, throwing it to the side with my sword. I spat in his face, trying to activate the hidden blade that I wore on the arm the Templar held, but obviously it had been broken with my wrist. The guard yanked my hood back and struck me firmly with an open hand, baring his teeth at me as if he thought he could frighten me. I only glared, silent, and the Templar laughed.

"This one is pretty, isn't he?" The others grinned, edging closer, and the one who'd hit me wound his hand into my hair and pulled, trying to force me to tilt my head towards him, but I didn't follow where he tried to lead.

"Pretty, yes. A bit strange looking, though, isn't he? Devil's eyes." I clenched my jaw to keep from speaking and kept my stare as cold as I could manage while the Templar settled the back of his free hand to my cheek, pressing a knee between my legs to hold me more firmly to the wall with his body. Discomfort flooded me suddenly, a deep sense of wrongness striking me at my core, but I tried not to let it show on my face as all the remaining guards fought for a place in the tight circle around me.

"If those are a devil's eyes, I would not mind meeting a few more devils," one said, and a few others nodded while the Templar stroked my cheek like one calming a wild animal. I tried to snap at him but the guard holding my hair kept me still. He shifted his leg between mine, rubbing firmly, his other hand settling over the center of my chest. His breath was harsh and hot, and it smelled sour.

"There's Saxon blood in him too; look at his skin, and how light his hair is. Someone get whatever weapons are left on him, and give me that sash he's wearing," he managed, sounding out of breath, and the feeling of something being awfully wrong worsened.

Hands jerked at my clothes, tugging my knives from their hidden compartments, and with every clatter of steel striking stone, I felt more helpless. I thrashed, then, kicking out wildly, uncaring now if I hurt myself more in the process so long as I got away, but still there were too many of them and they were only amused by the way I was acting. One of them undid my belt and set to untying the red band around my waist, deft and quick, and offered it to the Templar. He stepped away, and I tried to take the opportunity but two guards forced both of my arms against the wall, harsher on the side where the wrist was broken, and I could not stop myself from screaming. The Templar forced the sash into my mouth, then, tied it around the back of my head, and kissed me. I couldn't even have the pleasure of biting him as he pressed his body to mine again.

Thoughtless, someone yanked at my armor, pulling hard and forcing the straps loose rather than actually undoing them, and I tried to focus on my displeasure over that rather than the feeling of another person's cold hand sliding under my robes, palm pressing flat against my stomach. It didn't work for very long. My stomach roiled, and I imagined my skin burning everywhere they touched. They kept pulling my robe, not content with only sliding hands beneath as the first one had done, and I heard it tear.

People walked by the mouth of the alley where we stood, sparing only a glance and keeping silent. I couldn't help but think I recognized a few, that I'd saved them from guards at one point or another, and fought against anger towards them.

"This one really is very pretty. Perhaps I should bring him home with me," the Templar murmured, helping them pull the remains of my robe from me and throw it to the filthy ground, his hands settling heavily on my hips while the others fought to run fingers over my chest, as if I were a pet. I felt like a pet. I tried to kick. They only laughed, dodging easily, and the Templar pressed harder with his hands and his body until I couldn't even manage that. He bit at my jaw. There were too many hands on me, touching every piece of bare skin they could find, some that were more daring dipping under the waist of my breeches, trying to edge them down, and for the first time I was glad of the Templar's body being so close because they couldn't reach the ties through him.

The Templar's mouth moved from my jaw to my neck, biting hard enough that I know he drew blood, and I heard myself snarl, the sound strange and stilted around my sash. I jerked my head away. All that served to do was hurt my injured wrist again.

"Can we try him before?" one guard asked, voice ugly as his face, flushed a strange shade of pink and shining with sweat. The Templar laughed, really laughed, and I did not think I'd wanted to kill someone so badly since I'd fought Robert de Sable.

"I would be a cruel commanding officer indeed if I denied you all such a simple pleasure as the body of a filthy killer such as this. Of course you will understand if I take my fill of it first," he said, and the other man laughed back at the Templar, nodding his head, moving to mouth at the skin just below my ear.

"You are a generous commander indeed," another, one who had been more persistently pulling at my breeches, said, and the Templar finally took a half step back, but it was not welcome because it was only so that he could start pulling the ties free. I think that that was the first moment when I truly understood that there was nothing that I could do or say that would stop them from taking what they would from me. It was not a pleasant thought, especially not for me, when for so many years all I'd had was the assurance that no matter what, I could always fight. Even still, I refused to allow them the pleasure of seeing me humiliated and weak—even if they took this from me, they would not take my dignity nor what pride I yet held. I refused to allow it.

I gritted my teeth around my sash and kept my eyes open, kept glaring at them, refused to struggle anymore for their amusement. The ties came loose and my breeches slid to my knees, and they all reached for the new skin at once, grabbing for my ass and my cock both, rough and harsh and I was glad of that at least because the one thing I really, truly feared was my body finding pleasure in theirs despite the protests of my mind.

"Look, he is trying to pretend strength," one laughed.

"You should beg instead, like the whore you are. I might be kinder that way," another added. I didn't even try to speak, but it was simple to recall a day when I would've spat all manner of vile things back at him. I was tempted even still and I think not even Malik could have really faulted me for that.

"He will beg enough by night's end; you shouldn't wish away the fun of making him break so soon." I comforted myself with thoughts of what I would do to them when they were finished with me, imagined all the ways I knew to make them die. I stopped trying to identify whose hands were on me. They threw me to the ground, the Templar pulling my hips up, two others keeping my arms flat, and I heard the shift of armor and fabric, felt the hard press of his erection, and fought again to not show my disgust. He sounded like an animal, rutting against me and grunting, but above that, I heard a blessedly familiar voice.

"I would suggest that you all stand and leave now," Malik said, soft but far from weak. The guards only seemed amused. I could not fight back the pleased grin through the sash in my mouth.

"Leave, cripple. This doesn't concern you," one guard said, and Malik sighed, shaking his head and drawing his blade. The guard who'd spoken was dead within the space of a breath, and with the passage of another, the two holding my arms were lying in a pile of blood. The Templar tried to stand and take up his sword again, but Malik had always been almost inhumanly quick on his feet, and though it took two blows for the Templar to fall, there was no doubt that he did, in fact, fall. The last remaining guard tried to run as Malik felled his leader with ease, but I jerked forward, grabbing one of the throwing knives that had been stripped from me, and tossed it, watching with an old, sick sort of pleasure as it found its mark and he too struck the cold ground. I only barely managed to get to my feet before Malik was at my side, sword already sheathed again and a steadying hand at my arm.

"Are you hurt, brother?" he asked, voice low, dark eyes concerned, and he did not try to hide his worry though I knew it was not the sort of thing he often showed. I undid the knot gagging me, and tried to smile, but I felt myself shaking wildly and even retying my breeches was a challenge. I wanted my robe and felt silly for that, but it did not stop the desire, the odd feeling that if only they hadn't torn my robe, I would be alright.

"My wrist," I managed at last, and then, "How did you know to come?"

"I grew worried when I did not hear bells—I've been looking for you for over an hour. Here, take my coat; I'll send someone to fetch your things when we get back to the Bureau." I reacted poorly to that, I knew, poorly and irrationally, but I could not stop myself.

"No! No, Malik, I can't leave my weapons here, nor my robe, they will be taken and I will not be able to-," I heard myself say, and he hushed me softly, shaking his head.

"No one will take them, Altair, and if they do I will give you my own to replace them, or buy you new ones. Your wrist, however, will not wait so patiently, and if you'd like to keep use of it, I'd suggest getting back so that I may look at it." With those words, he led me away gently, and I followed without protest. It was a strange feeling, the warmth he was showing me, and I knew well how rare it was—I often heard others complain about how rough he was when the returned to the Bureau hurt. In the face of his kindness, though, I found that I could only nod, taking his coat when he offered it and draping it over my shoulders instead of actually trying to unpin the sleeve he didn't need with my hands shaking so fiercely. He didn't comment, and I was grateful for that, along with the way his presence kept prying eyes turned away from us as we began to move down the street. I never thought that I'd be so glad to see the Bureau.

"Can you climb inside? If not, I can get you in another way." He didn't sound mocking, only curious, but I still could not bring myself to admit that climbing would be a challenge.

"I can climb," I said instead, striding to the ladder with more confidence than I felt and making my way up, hand throbbing the whole way, and when I dropped inside, I landed more clumsily than I had when I was a novice in experience as well as name. Malik, who followed closely behind me, was surely fighting valiantly not to say something about my lack of grace.

"Go sit. I will be a moment; I was not the last to use my medical supplies, and they were not returned to their proper place." I felt strange, simply doing what he asked without comment, but for some reason, I could not think to speak. I fell heavily onto the cushions and pulled his coat more tightly around myself, admittedly enjoying the warmth. My wrist was swollen, and it felt naked without my bracer and hidden blade. I stared at it, noticing for the first time in a long time my missing finger. If I went out then and people saw it, they would think that I was merely a thief. Malik returned silently, the medical supplies he'd mentioned settled in a basket over his arm. I could not stop the thought that if he had never known me, he could have carried it all without the basket. For a bare moment, I wished that he had not killed the guards. "Give me your arm," he said, crouching in front of me and settling the basket by my leg, frowning deeply. I offered it without protest.

He hand was brisk but not rough as he looked over the injured appendage, fingers moving lightly over the rapidly purpling skin. It hurt. I tried not to flinch.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, and he raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

"Why? This is far from the worst injury I've had to deal with here. I expect it will heal well enough; I have a mixture lain out so that we can harden the bandages once I wrap it, and I'll make a splint as well. I think the bone will need to be set first, however; it will hurt, and you may need to help me some."

"Not for that; for what I've… for all the pain I've caused you. Only… I wonder why you helped me. It would have been…," I paused, unwilling to say that I'd deserved what had been about to happen, precisely, but it would have certainly been punishment, something to weaken my pride, and was that not what Malik wanted, if he could not have my life? He only shook his head, and gestured to a spot just above where the bone was broken.

"Hold your good hand there," he said, pressing lightly but firmly on the other side, and I felt the ends of the bones shifting. I clenched my jaw, eyes closing, and still heard myself making quiet sounds of pain. "Good. Now hold this end of the bandage for me." I did as he asked, watching him wind the other end around my wrist, tight, but not enough to cut circulation. It wasn't the first broken limb he'd dealt with, I was sure. I helped him tie it, once it was done, and he led me to the mixture he'd mentioned, having me hold the arm in it for a good while until it had soaked into the bandages, and when it dried, I found myself largely unable to move the wrist, as was surely the intent. He still splinted it as well, though, and the weight was welcome. I wondered if my hidden blade could be fixed or if I'd have to have a new one made.

"You never answered," I said at last, and he shook his head again, scrawling out two messages in his neat, tightly printed script and tying each to a different bird's leg, sending them both flying from the Bureau, though in different directions. "Malik…," I tried again, and he sighed.

"What do you desire me to say, Altair? That I wish such a thing upon you? I do not." I swallowed, unable to meet his stare, and shrugged as best I could.

"Perhaps not, but I simply...," I couldn't find the words. I offered him my neck instead, tilting my head back. He shook his head once more.

"I don't wish for your life, either, Altair, not anymore." I didn't understand why those words, the tone of his voice, frustrated me so much, but they did. A low noise rumbled in my throat, almost a scream but not quite. "You want to die that badly?" he asked, just as quiet, just as calm, and I wished that he would scream at me again, that he would curse my name and my life and all I'd done. It only made me angrier when he didn't, and I remembered when I would have been overjoyed at such softness from him, but now… his care was one thing I most certainly did not deserve.

"I should have been struck down the moment I ran at Robert de Sable against your advice, Malik. I have known that for a long time, just as I have known that if Al Mualim did not find me useful, I would have been slain as a traitor for what I did, and I would have deserved it then as well." He looked confused for the barest of moments, and for a second I thought that he really would get angry again, but instead he just settled at my side, careful not to jostle my arm.

"You've hidden that well. How long have you felt that way?" I laughed, head in my good hand, and it made my chest ache.

"I do not know. Perhaps from the moment you returned without Kadar, or when I heard that your arm could not be saved. I know at least that I was sorry then, only too damn proud to admit it." He swallowed, and I could see that my words affected him even if he would not admit it. "You wanted my life then, didn't you? Why not now, when I've admitted that you deserve it and offered it to you freely?"

"I never wanted your life, and I will not take your apology." He was a better man than I, perhaps always had been—I supposed when he asked for my blood, it had been only in anger. I knew well enough how little right I had to ask him for forgiveness. I wished again that he had not come to help me and turned away from him.

"I understand," I said, and heard him laugh.

"No you do not; you never do, novice. I do not want _your_ life, nor _your_ apology. You are not the same man who wronged me. You have nothing to apologize for." My eyes stung, and my heart thrummed more loudly and more quickly than it should have. "Of course, if it makes you feel better, then you are forgiven. I have no ill will towards you." I felt like a fool for it, but at that moment, I had to bite my lip to keep myself from sobbing. Malik seemed to notice, of course.

He stroked my back and let me lean against his side so he could not see my face in case I was suddenly unable to fight back tears, humming an old lullaby whose words I could not recall. I remembered, at least, that he used to sing it to Kadar, and I would sometimes linger near the door so that I could listen as well. I'd always liked the sound of his voice. I felt weak, Malik's arm heavy around me.

"Thank you," I heard myself murmur, over and over until even I could barely understand what I was saying or why I was saying it. He didn't respond, still just humming his sweet song. Eventually, though, he had me stand, leading me into his own cool, dark bedroom hidden within the Bureau.

"Here. I am expecting others today, including the one I sent to fetch your things, and I expect you do not want them to see you this way." He was right about that, at least, and yet, when he turned to leave, I stiffened, jumping from the bed he'd led me to and grabbing his sleeve. His own coat was still draped warmly around me. I did not want to be alone.

They were dead, I knew that they were, and few would ever dare to touch me as they had without my own consent. Even they wouldn't have had there not been so many of them, and had they not gotten lucky in putting my back to a wall. None of that softened the fear, though. I imagined them in the shadows, waiting to finish what they'd begun, imagined myself weaponless, wrist broken, once again unable to fight, and knew that I would drive myself crazy if I kept going.

"I don't wish to be here by myself," I said, quick, guarded, as if he wouldn't know why, but despite the fact that I was certain he knew, he still looked faintly confused, though he led us back to the bed and settled beside me obligingly.

"Alright. I suppose I will hear it clearly enough when someone comes." And that surprised me, of course.

"It does not bother you?" I asked, and he shrugged, twisting around so that his back was pressed against the cushions at the head of the bed, and pulling me to go with him, somehow managing to get my boots off of my feet as he did. He kept his own legs slightly turned so that his feet still hung off the edge and wouldn't dirty his sheets.

"What, that you wish for company at the moment? Why would it?" I could have said a thousand things and all of them would have been true. I could have told him that I was being weak and childish and succumbing to fears an Assassin should not have had, that if I had any semblance of a right to the title I once held, I would have stood tall and moved on with my life as if nothing had happened, and really nothing _did_ happen, they hardly touched me at all, there was no lasting damage, surely countless other members of the order had gone through worse and come out of it fine, what was _wrong_ with me? Instead, I swallowed thickly and said nothing at all. I think he still knew my thoughts; he often did. "After all, though they did not go as far as they could have, they certainly did enough. I can understand your discomfort." His hand felt so gentle, as if he thought I would shatter with a firm touch, as though I were some victim, weak and helpless and desperate for someone to care for me. I couldn't stand to see him looking at me that way.

"They did nothing," I bit, jerking away and flashing teeth, wincing as I jarred my broken wrist. He frowned but didn't try to stop me.

"You are crying," he said simply. I heard myself snarl, scraping a hand over my eyes, feeling the moisture on my skin. I wanted to scream and tried to do it but it came out like a sob, deep and heaving.

"They did nothing," I said again, but even I could barely understand the words. I clutched my head in my hands and felt the bed shift as he sat up and edged nearer to me again. I only flinched for a moment when he touched me, but didn't protest when he pulled me against him again and I cried into his shoulder like a child, hiccupping and coughing and barely able to hear the way he hushed me. I felt as though it took years before I fell silent, still pressed against his shoulder, his hand stroking my back. I pulled away as soon as I managed it and kept my eyes down so that I wouldn't have to look him in the face. He sighed.

"You are far from weak, Altair, I would swear that much to you at least." I wanted to laugh—weak was the only word I could think of then to describe how I felt and how I'd acted. "Altair, did you see how many of them there were? I honestly doubt that you'd find anyone able to fend off so many with their back against a wall. You fought well and you fought fiercely and you can do no more than that." I did laugh at that, dragging my eyes up to meet his stare. He didn't look away from me as most did, but then he never had seemed to find my eyes as off-putting as the others our age had.

"They treated me like a beaten dog," I hissed, "They laughed in my face and tore my robes and destroyed my blade and what is left of me but a weak man without that, Malik? I am nothing if I am not an Assassin, and I was not an Assassin today." He stiffened, jaw clenching and eyes going narrow and dark.

"Even now you are a fool, novice," he murmured, and I thought to look away again but he settled his palm flat on my cheek and kept me still. "It is not your robe and blade that make you an Assassin—you are one to your core, and more than that besides. Don't cheapen yourself as they cheapened you." If anyone else had been speaking, I would have thought that they were mocking me. Malik, though… Malik mocked me often, but he mocked me loudly and over my skill or my mind, not quietly and over my heart. Even still I found it difficult to find the truth in the words.

"You know that my talents lie only in death, Malik, perhaps better than anyone." I tried to keep my voice flat, but I heard it waver and my eyes kept drifting to his missing arm. He shook his head, still seeming stiff and half-angry, but he spoke as quietly and as coolly as ever.

"Don't pretend as if you're only a blade without a mind, Altair. You are nowhere near as stupid as you act. You are my friend, perhaps the best one I have left, though I dislike admitting as much, and I have seen your kindness. Those men today were the ones who were weak, not you." I could not respond, and his eyes softened, patting my cheek. I swallowed stiffly, then, only barely resisting a sudden urge to lean against his touch. I was not so successful in suppressing the urge to lean forwards and press my lips to his, firm and quick and for hardly a moment before I jerked away, horrified at myself. He stared at me, lips parted and surprised, and slowly, so slowly started laughing.

"Malik, I'm sorry, please do not-," I began, but his hand slid to gently clutch the back of my neck and pull me close to him again, still careful of my hurt arm, and I could not say a word.

"There is still nothing to apologize for, novice," he whispered, pressing his own lips to mine this time, gentle and slow and so, so different from the Templar bastard and I felt myself soften in his hands, following the movement of his lips with my own and almost chasing after him when he pulled away, dark eyes bright. I felt myself smile, my cheeks aching with the unfamiliarity, and watched him do the same, shaking his head at me almost fondly. "You should sleep," he murmured at last, "It's getting late, and I'm sure you're tired." I nodded, clearing my throat and closing my eyes as an excuse to not look at him.

"Will you still stay with me a while?"

"Until someone comes with your things, at least, and I will return when they are gone." I tried another smile, nodding faintly.

"Thank you, Malik," I said again, and he ran his hand lightly over my hair, just once, before I felt him shift back to where he'd been before, back against the cushions and shoes hanging off the edge. Planning to pretend that I was already asleep if he commented, I edged a little closer, pressing softly against his side, rough robe scraping gently and almost pleasantly against my cheek while his coat still hung heavily around my upper body. I felt him start humming again more than I heard it, but I drifted into a deep sleep before I could pick out the tune.

* * *

Malik's POV

A novice crashed into the Bureau with Altair's equipment perhaps an hour after he fell asleep, clutching it all in his arms as if it were precious treasure. I had him lay it all on the pillows in the main room and shook my head a little at all the damage done; a mere glance at the bracer that hid the mechanism for his hidden blade told me that it was completely shattered, likely beyond repair, and I shuddered to think what would have happened to his wrist had he not been wearing it at all.

The robes at least someone would likely be able to stitch back together, should he want them back—they were torn at a seam that had probably already been loose. Even his sword had been chipped a bit, though that at least required no repair, unlike the hilt of his dagger, which had been snapped in two when a guard had stepped on it in his attempt to flee. Obviously he had allowed it to get damaged previously and not bothered to have it repaired or purchase a new one, I supposed, and I wondered when it would be appropriate to scold him for as much. The novice shifted from foot to foot, staring at the ground, obviously hoping that he would disappear.

"It was all like that when I found it," he said, half-desperate, and I fought back a smirk.

"I realize that, novice." Admittedly I might have found a bit too much pleasure in terrifying the newer recruits, but then, I was allowed few pleasures as a Rafiq, so I took those that I could have with relish. "Is there any reason that you are still taking space in my Bureau, novice? You've done what I wished—I have nothing else for you." He scampered off as if I'd set a dog on him, scrambling out of the Bureau and away, and I snorted to myself, closing the Bureau entrance and making my way back to my room. I kicked my boots off and curled back around Altair, finally able to drift into sleep myself.

* * *

I awoke with the dawn the next morning, as I always did, and found Altair still sleeping soundly, head settled warm and heavy on my shoulder. I gave into the urge to peck his cheek as I sat up and stood, silent as I was able, and found a scrap of parchment and a quill to write a quick message that I would be in the front working, in case he awoke and worried upon finding me gone. I settled it beside his uninjured hand and crept out, leaving the room dark and allowing him still to keep my coat.

After I opened the Bureau, I engrossed myself in working on my maps, as I always did, only periodically glancing for a bird bringing word from Masyaf in response to the message I'd sent saying that Altair would not be returning for a time. Instead of a bird, Rauf, an admittedly skilled Assassin who generally worked to train the novices in swordsmanship, dropped neatly into the Bureau and pulled his face mask down, offering me a wide, friendly smile.

"Dai," he said, inclining his head, and I returned the gesture.

"Rauf. What's brought you here? I've gotten no word that you were meant to have a mission." He shook his head, still smiling.

"Al Mualim sent me after he got your letter. I expect he wanted to make sure you hadn't killed Altair," he said, laughing a little, and I frowned.

"Altair was surrounded by guards in an attempt to gather information about his target yesterday. They managed to destroy much of his equipment and break his wrist before he killed them—obviously he cannot kill anyone in such a state, nor ride back to Masyaf alone. I do not mind him staying here until he mends and can kill his target. I'd have said as much in the letter, but I was in a bit of a hurry at the time as I was attempting to make certain that his wrist would heal properly."

"That's his stuff over there?" he asked, jerking his head towards where I'd left his things the night before, and I nodded. "Good thing he's skilled as he is, hm? Anyone else would've ended up dead! In any case, it could be for the best; the other reason Al Mualim sent me was because the target he's supposed to kill isn't actually here. Apparently it was all some sort of diversion; the target left our reach and won't be back for some time. Where is he? I'll ride back with him to Masyaf so you can have your Bureau in peace again." I frowned, laying down my quill and preparing to tell him that it was likely a poor idea for him to ride just then, when Altair emerged from my room, my coat hanging over his good arm and a set of my own robes draped on his lean body, just slightly too large.

"It's alright, Malik," he said, smiling faintly. "I'm far from weak. I expect I can make the ride easily enough, and I've troubled you enough." He passed me the coat, fingertips brushing mine.

"Novice," I grunted, "you should be wearing a sling to help keep that arm stable if you're going to insist on walking around. Do you want it to heal properly?" I stood, shrugging on the coat, and turned to my medicine chest, fetching a long strip of fabric I could use as a sling. He let me put it on him without protest, though he did roll his eyes at me and I bit back a need to snap at him for it. At least my robe was loose enough that he probably hadn't managed to hurt himself when he put it on. "In any case, no. You have no business riding for a week at least—tell Al Mualim to send someone for him then, Rauf." The man watched us, amused and perhaps a bit curious, before he nodded, slow, still smiling as he pulled his face mask back into place.

"Of course, Dai. Ah, and Altair, your target is not here—you will have to wait a while before we can go after him again," he said, turning and swiftly climbing from the Bureau again. As soon as he was gone, Altair started laughing, and I frowned at him.

"Might I ask what is so funny, novice?" He laughed a while longer, and even when he stopped, he was grinning like a fool.

"You," he said, edging closer and kissing me firmly, good arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I returned the gesture with ease and vigor. It was a little harder to frown when he pulled away, and he started laughing again. I picked up a book and swatted him lightly over the head with it, wondering what I'd gotten myself into as he laughed a little harder and pressed himself close against my side. As I settled the book back on the desk and wrapped my own arm around him, I found that whatever it was, I couldn't bring myself to frown about it too much.


End file.
